Good Boy
by CWprodigy
Summary: "Are you finally taking me up on that little offer?" her voice drips with amusement and if he weren't so tired, he would've been embarrassed or angry. But he's hurting and exhausted so he lowers his head even more, makes himself even smaller than he already feels, and answers. "Yes." Alex/George, BDSM, submissive!George, Dom!Alex.
1. Chapter 1

X

He walks in and locks the door. The air is still, smelling of cheap nicotine and old paper, and he briefly wonders if she's started smoking again. He chokes down the disapproval tickling the back of his throat and waits for her to acknowledge him in her space. She doesn't look up from the case file she holds in her strong, delicate hands. He envies those hands, as his own are trembling at his sides. He's cold, even in the sweater vest and his spine gets a lick of pain every now and then, making him sweat.

She finally finishes the file and places it in the pile on her desk. The sound cracks the thick air and his trembling intensifies if only slightly. "George," she says quietly, picking up another file and leafing through it. He can detect the slicing smile in her voice.

He lowers his head, ignores the stinging of his wounds both physical and mental.

"Are you finally taking me up on that little offer?" her voice drips with amusement and if he weren't so tired, he would've been embarrassed or angry. But he's hurting and exhausted so he lowers his head even more, makes himself even smaller than he already feels, and answers.

"Yes."

It's the hitch in his voice that makes her look up, amused smirk dying on her lips. There's a bruise spreading across his cheek like some infectious plague. It's deep purple, and looks painful and humiliating. She rises from her desk, noticing the flinch that attacks his small body as the chair scrapes against the pitted hardwood floors. It's late, she realizes, glancing out the window and seeing the dark night sky along with her own, tired reflection. His head is still down, sharp strands of inky black hair falling into his face. Her heels click against the floor, incredibly loud in the silence.

"George," she says, standing in front of him now, voice like a soft caress. He finally looks up, eyes red and stinging, tears tracking down his cheeks like sticky rivers. She brushes them away with her thumb, noticing the wince that twists his mouth as her fingers brush against the bruise. He's aching and raw, bones and head throbbing in a way that just makes him want to_ pause_ and _stop_ and _breathe_ in the words she says to him because those words are the only thing keeping him grounded.

Her fingers leave his cheeks, run carefully through his hair, righting it. His eyes close, acting like dams, keeping the salty wetness from flowing past his pupils. He wants her touch, her hands in his hair while she tells him its _okay_, even when it doesn't feel like it is, like now when he feels like he is a synonym for desperation.

"What do you need?" She places her hands at her sides, staring at his closed eyes. She's taller even without her heels. His skin glows, illuminated only by the small lamp flickering warmly on her desk. He looks broken and beautiful, bruise marring his cheek like a brand.

A shudder rakes through him. Was it this cold when he walked in? He doesn't remember. His mind thumps against itself erratically, trying to recall his motive for coming here, to her. His limbs feel too heavy. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his fingertips. Everything seems to vibrate with pain.

"I need," he says finally, voice no more than a crisp whisper in the suffocating silence. The clock ticks steadily in the background. His can feel a lump forming in his throat. "I need to forget. I need you to _make _me forget. I can't keep seeing these things when I close my eyes."

"What do you see?" she exhales softly, patient. He shakes his head. "What do you see, George?"

"The bodies." His voice sounds like someone took a knife and dug into his throat until the trachea was exposed, bloody and muscly and raw. "I see dead bodies, and victims, and sick bastards who smirk as they recall every single thing they did to a defenseless child." His words make her ache, the bitterness and anger and utter desperation is palpable. "That's what I see and I want you to make it go away. I want to take you up on your offer, if you'll have me." His voice quivers and shakes as he bows his head, a picture of relenting submission. "Please have me."

She looks at him, runs a hand through her own blonde hair and adjusts her glasses, scrutinizing all the while. She needs a shower. He needs a do-over. She examines his plump lips, the thick fluttering lashes, soft timbre of his voice and the delicate hands that keep shaking. He's a breathtaking wreck clinging to the frayed edges of his sanity, trying to sleep without waking up in cold sweats, voice hoarse from crying, limbs whining from being thrashed into nightstands and headboards. She's heard the rumors, how he seems out of it, more jumpy than normal at work to the point where even Stabler awkwardly addressed his concern only for the doctor to snap and yell.

He'll have to be fixed before she can own him, she thinks. Above all he was still her friend even when begging for her to save him, even when he stood in her office, sweating and shaking and practically quivering with the effort to not shut down completely. He looks thinner, even in the multiple layers he wears and it isn't surprising that he wasn't properly taking care of himself.. He put every piece of him into his work, absorbing all the pain of victims and not talking to anyone about it. Now, he's breaking, coming apart under pressure and lack of sleep. She can feel how tired he is, how much he needs her now.

"I'll take you home," she says finally. "We can talk then." He nods, reaches for her coat as she walks back over to her desk and begins carelessly throwing files into her briefcase. He helps her into it and opens the door.

She stifles the urge to say "good boy" as the door closes.

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A/N: So the next chapter is already in the works and I am officially done with school for the next couple months so you can expect more updates on this story and others. However, my other George story entitled "Little George" will be discontinued until I am inspired again. Anyway, should I continue this? Please review all you Huang lovers out there!


	2. Chapter 2

Her apartment is like her, light, neat, and intimidating. He follows her, remaining two steps behind, ignoring the people in the lobby who only see the bruise adorning his cheek and not him. He only focuses on her small body, zig zagging through people to get to the elevator, smiling at those she's familiar with and waiting to catch the next one though only three people are on it. He realizes as another elevator opens, she wants them to be alone.

The elevator is cold and suffocating, while the stainless steel walls distort their bodies like fun-house mirrors. The dizziness that had been previously festering behind his eyelids comes back as the elevator begins moving leisurely. He stumbles only for her to pin him to the wall, hands wrapping around his wrist, face inches from his. His head wobbles, unfocused eyes searching for something in the distance. He can feel the reassuring cold of the metal even through his clothing and hear the grinding hum of the elevator's machinery.

"George." Her manicured nails dig into the skin of his wrists. He whimpers, arches into the pain because it makes him forget how fucking pitiful he feels, if only for a moment.

"You want to be hurt," she acknowledges, eyes cold behind the sharp glint of her glasses. "You want it and you don't care who gives it to you." He nods, though his eyes swim in their sockets. "And that makes you a slut."

She releases him, smooths her hands over her skirt and walks swiftly as the doors open with a high-pitched ding. He stumbles after her. She's at the end of the hall when he finally catches up, efficiently rifling through her Louis Vuitton briefcase for her keys. He'd gotten it for her on her last birthday.

She finds the keys and places it in the lock. "I don't like my boys to be sluts George," she says plainly, turning the key and opening the door.

The apartment is airy, adorned in simple shades of cream with splashes of stainless steel and dark woods. He sits on the couch, sinking into it as she shoves a glass of iced tea into his hand. He takes a grateful sip then places it on a cork coaster, watching offhandedly as the condensation glides down the clear glass.

Alex regards him, falling gracefully into a chair, removing her glasses and rubbing her temples. He looks tired, she notes, worry momentarily causing creases to form on her forehead. His eyes are gaunt, many bags under them and his glowing complexion seems to have vanished.

"Do you remember exactly what the offer entails?" She asks, leaning forward in her seat slightly, forcing him to maintain eye contact. He licks his chapped lips and meets her eyes with some apprehension.

"Yes," he says with a nod, clearing his throat before he continues. "You offer me stability, comfort, discipline, sexual release under your terms, and anything else you feel I need." He is surprised by how casual his voice comes out despite how drained he feels.

"And you?" Her eyes say she's pleased at him for remembering. Her feet ache from her heels but she is reluctant to remove them. They're normally so casual around at each other, having been friends for years but this request changes everything and they are both aware of it.

"And I give myself to you. I must trust you to not hurt me, abide by the rules you set up for me, and ultimately…relinquish control." He toys with the frayed edges of his sweater vest. It's one of his favorites but it would need to be replaced soon. He feels the blush heating his cheeks and is slightly perturbed by the childish reaction to his own words.

She smiles at him, real and soft. He soaks up her silent praise and finds himself smiling back, muscles relaxing and sinking into the soft contours of her couch.

"This is a big decision."

"I've already considered the implications," he replies smoothly with one of those amused, secretive smirks he's known for. It almost makes him look like his usual self. "You're my friend, Alex. I trust you but you already know that otherwise you wouldn't have given me this offer all those months ago."

She nods at him. "Very true. But still, this could be a drastic adjustment."

He stops fiddling with his clothes and raises an eyebrow. "Could?"

She smiles but it isn't the gentle smile she'd offered him moments ago. It's darker, twisting the corners of her mouth with sadistic humor. "This offer is two-sided George. I have to train you and take care of you. Like you said, _I control you_. That's a big undertaking is it not?"

"You wouldn't have to train me. I'm not going into this blindly. I've had experience and I'm comfortable with this lifestyle." It feels odd explaining himself but he understands. He isn't some puppy she's considering adopting. He's a human being who must function and she's worried about damaging him more than he's already done to himself.

She raises an eyebrow. "I knew my little George had a wild side." Alex briefly wonders if she's a sadist for enjoying the blush that inflames his cheeks. He coughs awkwardly and she chuckles.

"I suppose I could do worse..."

"Gee, thanks," he mutters drily. The dampness that seemed to have covered them us lifting and his chest feels lighter. He's still tired though, body and head still aching in a way that makes him want to collapse and never awaken. She seems to pick up on this and frowns. It's late already and she feels guilty for the small yawn that escapes his parted lips.

"As much fun as this is," Alex says, rising from her chair and stretching out her sore muscles. "You look like Hell and no boy of mine can look like that."

He blinks at her once, twice, and then realizes what she just said. The grin he gives her almost makes her forget how terrible he looked in her office. He rises when she nods at him and follows her obediently down the hall and into her bedroom.

"Call Cragen tomorrow and ask for a week off," Alex says once they've both stripped down to their undergarments. He replies his assent tiredly as he slips under the covers and sinks into the cool sheets. They drift off shortly after and he realizes next week his training as her Sub will begin.

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A/N: So, what'd ya think? If you would click the little review button and tell me what you think, that'd be great!


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness creeps up on him slowly, dull morning light piercing the curtains and splashing over his eyelids. A yawn billows from his parted lips in the otherwise soundless room as he rolls from Alex's bed and looks for the clothes he'd discarded the night before. They aren't where he left them.

He can smell the coffee as he rises from the warm sheets while he searches in the dawn light. They aren't where he remembered dropping them the night before, so he allows himself to leave the stability of her bedroom and walk into the kitchen in nothing but his boxers and a thin T-shirt.

She smiles at him as he enters, all mussed hair and slow gait, mumbling something about a clothes thief. The bruise on his cheek is fading from the deep purple to a sickly yellowish-green. She frowns and realizes she never asked how he got it, but he hadn't volunteered either. The bags under his eyes seem to have lessened with a good night's rest and the defeated look is gone.

"Sleep well?" Alex asks, smiling over the rim of her coffee mug. He lowers himself into the seat next to her as she pushes a mug of tea in his direction. He nods his thanks.

"Yeah I did, thank you for that." He takes a sip, steam clinging in droplets to the thicket of black lashes as the soothing liquid careens down his throat. He's still aware of the bruise on his cheek but it must've faded overnight.

"A suspect hit me," he says, glancing in the murky reflection in his mug but knowing her eyes are focused on him. "He said I was trying to trick him into confessing. Elliot pulled him off me but not before he did this." He makes a vague gesture to his face before letting his hand drop to the cool marble counter. "Comes with the job I guess."

"Getting hit is not in anyone's job description." Her voice is serious as she places a warm hand onto his, rubbing soothing circles over the soft skin with her thumb. He makes a noncommittal gurgle in the back of his throat but does seem to relax into her touch.

"I think I need to tell Cragen in person that I'll be off for a week," he says after moments of silence. "If I tell him on the phone he'll worry."

She frowns, forehead creasing. "You do realize that you would be going back into the very situation that brought you almost literally to your knees in my office correct?" Her tone is playful with undertones of truth. He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle as she finishes her coffee. He mind is still hazy from slumber, limbs droopy from calm rest.

"I know," Is all he can manage.

"Alright," she amends remembering his stubbornness, rising from the bar stool, face scrunching as the chair scrapes against the floor. "I'm going to go tell my boss that I'll take him up on those vacation days."

She's half-way down the hall before he calls out to her. "Wait, umm have you seen my clothes?" Her golden hair swings as she turns with an amused smile on her face.

"Nope." Then he realizes she's wearing his now coffee-stained shirt.

X

The squad room is like an unstable atom, everything constantly in motion. Phones ringing off the hook, files getting tossed onto large files, tension manifesting in snapped words, it all creates a symphony of cacophony as he walks in unnoticed amidst all the hustle and bustle. He goes into his office, littered with mugs and take-out containers and balled up pieces of paper stuffed in the waste bin. It's dim with no lights on and the large windows reflect the gray clouds in the sky fast approaching like a wave. He gathers his laptop and some files from his desk, stacks them up, and closes the door with his foot all while reminding himself to clean it when he returns.

Olivia waves at him with a smile, holding her hand over the receiver of the phone she was previously barking into, thin fingers wrapped around the graying, coiled cord. She gestures to his laptop and files as Elliot vocalizes her thoughts with accurate ease.

"Going somewhere Doc?" The ex-marine rubs the stubble sprouting from his sharp jaw, small grin on his face. Fin and Munch have paused their argument to look over at him curiously. The doctor had never taken a day off unless he had to go out of town or was in the hospital. The latter usually happened more than the former a small part of him acknowledges with something that isn't exactly bitterness.

"Yes," he says, as all four pairs of eyes turn to him. "I need to take my vacation days before I lose them." It isn't exactly a lie. They nod at him understandingly.

"If anyone deserves some time off it's you," Elliot says looking at the healing bruise almost apologetically, voice low and true. George blinks. He isn't used to getting compliments especially not from Stabler. It left a funny feeling in his chest, not unpleasant, just uneasy to name.

"Thanks," he says and begins walking to Cragen's office, hearing Olivia call out her farewell before yelling in Spanish into the receiver. He shuffles the items in his hands until one is free and lands three soft knocks. The door creaks open with an almost painful whine and George realizes that even on a physical level it's never really closed.

"Come in." He hears, so he does.

Cragen looks exhausted, suit jacket off, suspenders down, perpetual creases of stress and fatigue wrinkling his face. The red vine licorice he used to keep on his desk has either been removed or covered by files and newspapers. Coffee cups line the shelves, most of them chipped as if they'd been repeatedly dropped and some appeared glued back together. It's dim in their as well, making everything appear like it's in a black and white cop movie, all shades of gray.

The squad captain does not look surprised to see him and that makes unease roll like marbles in his stomach. "Sit down," he says softly, nodding towards one of the two chairs seated on the other side of his desk. The psychiatrist complies, setting down his computer and files next to him, shoes barely scraping the floor due to his height. Cragen sits on the corner of his desk just staring at him like a concerned father, wrinkles becoming even more pronounced.

"I need some time off." All the silence was making him uncomfortable. Normally he controls silence, he prompts other people to speak and explain themselves, he analyzes people not the other way around. "Only about a week," he continues when Cragen doesn't respond. "I know this is really short notice so I understand if you're upset about-"

"It's not about the notice Doc though we do need you, but god knows you have more vacation days than Elliot or I combined." He laughs, but there's no mirth, just tiredness.

George feels something akin to guilt crash over him like a bucket of ice water. They need him. Victims need him. He can't just leave, that would be selfish. "No, I'm worried about _you_." Cragen regains his attention and he stifles the urge to squirm underneath the strangely parental gaze. He feels like his very insides are being examined and he doesn't like it.

"No need to worry," George says in a tone he reserves for calming hysterical patients. "I just need a few days to recharge is all." He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh. "I'm tired Don and I know you can tell. I need to eat and sleep and be a normal person for a few days." He could almost laugh at the irony. "Normal people" don't find themselves in the situation he's in with Alex but he ignores that small part of him.

Cragen exhales before turning to his desk, pushing back files and revealing the red vine container still filled with licorice. George takes one politely, nibbling like a mouse on the hard strawberry flavored, rubbery treat.

"You sure you only need a week?" His pants are wrinkled, shoes scuffed. To George, Cragen needs the vacation.

"I'm sure." He rises cracking his vertebrae. "I can give you a list of other psychiatrists if anything comes up." Cragen shakes his head.

"No we should be fine. Now get out of here and don't come back until your head's on straight."

Cragen still stares at the door even when the doctor has walked out the precinct and into the rain.

X

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A/N: Sorry for the late update, just got a new job, dog is having puppies pretty soon, yada yada. Anyway, please review so I know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex is waiting for him when George arrives at her apartment. She's sitting on her plush couch, glass of white wine held delicately in her slender fingers. She watches in amusement as he tries to hold his laptop, files, clothing, and briefcase all while insisting that he can close the door without her help. She chuckles under her breath as his files drop for his hands and retreat lazily to the floor like leaves catching a breeze in Central Park.

"Need help?" The doctor blushes at the tone, pink tinge coming to his supple cheeks as he shakes his head and drops to the floor. He has the strangest flashback to high school and idiot jocks constantly knocking his books on the ground only to be helped by the pretty cheerleaders. Alex is more than a pretty cheerleader, he acknowledges, affection blooming in his stomach.

"No I got it, but thank you." He scoops up the files and decides to worry about organizing them later. He looks up to see Alex staring at him with an unreadable expression. Her lips are pursed, eyebrows scrunched together, and eyes far away, tying together her overall look of sudden and deep thought.

"Alex?" She blinks blankly as he says her name, then looks at him strangely.

"You're gay," Alex says blushing immediately as he raises an eyebrow at her lack of tact, small smirk gracing his Asian features. Calmly he places his files on the kitchen counter and sets the rest of his things down on the floor. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, leaving him in a dark green button-up and gray sweater-vest.

"I'm aware of that Miss Cabot." His eyes swim with mirth as he approaches her, smirk transforming into a rare, genuine smile.

"No…I meant—'"

"You meant how are we going to have a sexual relationship when I've said myself that I like men?" He sounds more self-assured than she's heard him in a while and that, coupled with the ridiculousness of the entire conversation makes a fleeting smile pass her mouth. She nods at his explanation. He loses his smile and becomes serious.

"Like I've said before, sexuality is a not as cut and dry, or black and white as a person may think. Sexuality is very fluid and often times confusing. I don't even understand it myself Alex. All I know is that I am attracted to you and have been attracted to a few other women in the past." He sits down next to her.

"Then why not just label yourself as bi-sexual?" She hadn't realized how close he was but now she could see that his clothing was wet from the rain, small droplets of water clinging to his inky black hair and eyelashes. His tongue darts out to moisten his plump lips and her eyes trail the action without his knowledge.

"In my opinion," he says still in the process of thinking, "Bisexual is a title for those who are attracted to men and women equally. I can say that 97% of the time I only find men attractive and I don't find women as a whole attractive, it's only certain women. I like them for their personalities, our common interest, yes even their physical appearance and it just so happens that they're women. Confusing, I know." He chuckles somewhat nervously, shivering in his cold, wet clothes and moves closer to her on instinct. It's a small act of subtle submission and Alex picks up on it, placing her glass on the side table and pulling him closer. He nuzzles into her neck and lets out a noise that sounds dangerously close to a purr.

"George," she says, feeling his warmth even through the barrier of wet clothing. He shifts to look at her, eyes glazed over with something akin to content. "Yes?"

"We need to get you out of your wet clothes. Cragen will kill me if you come back to work sick."

He makes a noise of clear refusal and she chortles at his uncharacteristic childishness, releasing her grip on him. He sighs standing up but doesn't move and she realizes he's waiting for further direction.

The air shifts suddenly, becoming thick with promises and silent pleas of trust. They really are doing this she realizes. He will be _hers_, hers to own and love and use how she pleases and that alone makes her shiver with delight.

"Choose a safe word." Her voice is clear and concise, no form of apprehension or embarrassment present. He looks down and considers.

"Ritalin."

She nods at him. "Go to my room, take off your clothes and wait for me."

He does as he's told, walking down the hall, bypassing the bathroom door and entering her room. The bed is made; curtains drawn but the lights are on, giving the room and almost angelic glow. He peels off the wet clothing, fingers nervously trembling over the damp materials. He starts with his shirt, ruffling his hair in the process, then his shoes, then pants. He hesitates on the hem of his boxer shorts. Can he really allow someone to control him in such a way? To dominate him so completely that he can't imagine functioning for long periods of time without their direction? It's not someone, he reminds himself, it's Alex and her angelic smiles, and soft yet firm touches. The boxers slid past him ankles.

He gets on all fours; knees digging into the soft carpet, arousal and apprehension coursing equally through his veins as if one is trying to counteract the other. He can hear her heels click against the hardwood floors and he tells himself to stop trembling.

The heels are muted by the carpet but he can just make out the outline of her legs standing in front of him while his head is bowed.

"What is your safe word?" Her voice breaks the thick silence, caressing his trembling frame. He clears his throat.

"Ritalin," He says, head still bowed, eyes staring at her expensive Neiman Marcus pumps. Her voice drops to a low whisper. "Let me know when you're ready."

He takes a deep breathe, calming his nerves, his fears, the questions still looming in his mind. He looks up to meet those blue orbs staring back at him with nothing but affection.

"I'm ready, Master."

X

A/N: Will update soon and rating for chapters will go up. Please review. And do you know anyone in the New Orleans area who wants a puppy?


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